This time of day feels like my time of day. It's mine, it's mine, it's mine- I'm the only person who has discovered it and it's magical. Stop it, don't laugh at me. Like I kept telling Smelliott last night, 'be quiet, like a terrorist' (I don't get what it's meant to mean, either. I thought it was really clever and logical at the time, though). I'm mad anyway, you should be nice to me. I'm also pretty drunk, I think. I must be- my best friend came back from New Zealand (why was she there? She was shagging sheep, duh) and so, of course, we had a vodka night and my Dog, can we do vodka nights. I tell you MOST SOLEMNLY, strawberry and cream vodka liquor is now my favourite thing in the world, even after... God, what else do I like? Bloody hell, what DO I like? Oh, snails. Smelliott is asleep in my bed, where we passed out at about midnight, after deciding to get dressed up to go to town and then deciding we couldn't be arsed, so going to the petrol station for ice cream and M&Ms and cereal. No matter who is here, every drunken night at my house ends with a trip to the petrol station, to visit the Asian men and their microwave of lurve. Mmm, classy.
I have all these BURNING DESIRES (hahaha, shut up), which I know are, in part, because I haven't taken my meds and because my meds aren't really strong enough anyway. I am horrifically irresponisible with medication. From being about 13, I was on Beta-Blockers (I shake, pretty much permanently, and in those days everyone thought it was a not-all-that-important heart thing, rather than just, like, anxiety) but I never took them. That's a lie, if I was going to meet people for the first time, or if my anxiety was bad or if I was BORED I used to take a triple dose, because they calmed me, hahahaha. To be honest, I'm not sure whether they actually did, or whether I was just convinced that they did, and so they did.
Taking meds for boredom's sake is a bit of a running thing with me. Last year, when I first got prescribed Seroquel, I took 400mg (which is about enough to sedate a horse. A big horse. No, an entire stable, in fact) before one of my A-Level Philosophy papers, because I'd decided to fail it and everybody was cramming and I was bored. I was about to blame my failure of that exam (0/120, get in) on the pill, but I've already told you I'd decided to fail, hell's bells. I'm also choosing to ignore the point that i was bloody shit at philosophy, because I am about as deep as Busted lyrics ('He took me to the future in the flux thing and I saw everything- boybands and another one and another one ... and another one! Triple breasted women swim around town... totally naked!'). Anyway, I didn't want to fall asleep in the exam, so to keep my mind going, I wrote a long story that had the ending 'and then the giraffes came and they ate the thighs on the fairies and the pixies and thee ate the elephants and they took over the world.' Something like that, anyway. Pfft, meds. If you want to get all psycho-analytical about my irresponsibility, it's a bit of a control thing. A CONTROL THING. Anything can be excused as that, as soon as you have an eatin disorder in your medical notes. But who really wants to get all psycho-analytical? It's not even half 5 in the morning.
I do really need to take them, nobody should be this buzzin' at this time of day. But if I do now, I'll sleep until mid-afternoon. I also really want to take laxatives. I went to Morrisons (Mozzas, Mozzas. I hate that I just called it Morrisons) yesterday and bought a litre of vodka, a litre of the strawberry shit I talked about before, a litre of evil blue alcopop, 3 cartons of Disney Princess blackcurrent squash (you know when you see something and you have an overwhelming desire to have it? I had to have those. I'm normally a lemon squash girl) and a pack of lax. I like to think people's shopping baskets reveal deep things about them, and mine clearly showed that I am a fine and upstanding member of the community. Meds? Lax? Lax? Meds? Obviously both would be, um... bad. Just bad. The other issue here, is that my will to binge right now is probably strong enough to fight da pillz anyway, so it would all be an UTTER WASTE. I woke up so many times the other night, because I'd been fasting for a couple of days and the will to binge (maybe I am a philosopher, I'm getting all Nietzschean. Shut up, I know I'm not. What have I told you about humouring me?) was stronger than ANTI-PSYCHOTICS. Bloody hell, fukmalyf. I NEED FOOD.
Maybe I should just go back to laying in bed next to Smelliott and making big plans for big adventures. Shhh- be quiet, like a terrorist.